


Soulless vs. Demon

by waywardelle



Series: Pillow Talk [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season 11, references to season 10, references to season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5741098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardelle/pseuds/waywardelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of the Pillow Talk Verse: in which they discuss who would win in a fight, Demon Dean or Soulless Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soulless vs. Demon

Sam’s eyes are closed, and he’s almost purring with how amazing it feels to have Dean’s fingers working through the knots in his tangled, sweaty hair. Their afterglow isn’t always this slow, this sweet, depending on what needs to be done immediately after. Like, say, if Dean has Sam pressed up against some back alley, sucking his brain through his cock just to get Sam’s taste in his mouth to remind himself that the idiot hitting on Sam in the bar had no chance, no chance at all to know what it feels like to have Sam come apart for him… wait, what was he thinking about?

Right. The afterglow. But they’re in the Bunker, and nothing in particular needs to be done next, considering it’s almost 1am, and sleep is the closest thing on their minds. His ass is sore, still open, and he can feel himself leaking, feel the way it’s working down the back of his thigh onto Dean’s clean sheets. He’d feel bad, but Dean’s the one that put it there, so he can just deal. It’d been intense between them tonight, for no particular reason, but he hadn’t been able to stop staring at his brother all day, just caught up in the possession of having Dean all for himself, and that had translated in the way they’d touched each other– there are bruises to prove how it went between them.

Dean gets a little moody when things are that intense, and Sam’s not sure why, but he wants a smile to be the last thing on Dean’s face before he falls into dreams, not that pursed-lip lost look he knows so well.

“Dean,” Sam murmurs against his brother’s chest, where his head always fits perfectly, like their bodies are one big jigsaw puzzle, and they’re only pieces of a bigger picture when they’re apart. 

Dean grunts, fingers intently working on a particularly stubborn knot just behind Sam’s left ear. 

Sam doesn’t know what possesses him to ask, but he’s been wondering this for a while. He wants his brother’s input. “Okay. So, you know how we always fight about who would win in a fight with Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris?”

He can feel the huff of a laugh Dean gives as answer.

“Who do you think would win in a fight with Soulless me and Demon you?”

Dean’s fingers still in Sam’s hair. The whole room seems to still. It’s not exactly funny, Sam knows. The twisted versions of both of them left deep scars on the other, and those things are on the long list of Shit We Don’t Talk About, but Sam hates that list. He’s just not wired like his brother, to suppress suppress suppress until it ends up coming out anyway. 

“What the fuck, Sam,” Dean wonders flatly. 

“No, seriously,” Sam insists, getting his arms underneath him to turn his face up to Dean’s. He rests his forearms against his brother’s chest, resting his chin on his stacked fists. “Personally, I think Soulless Sam would completely kick Demon Dean’s ass. He was totally stacked. Demons like to play with their food too much, but soulless me was a machine. No instinct, except to get the job done.”

He watches his brother’s face carefully as it plays through a thousand different emotions Sam can read like a book. Incredulous, angry, amused, pondering. Dean licks at his dry lips, then chews on them, eyes on the ceiling. 

“Are you kidding,” Dean offers finally. “Soulless you followed me around like a puppy, heeding all of my orders. Uh, suggestions. Not orders.” His eyes flick down to Sam’s to make sure he’s not angry. “Demon me was a wildcard. Not to mention completely badass. He, he kicked a Marine’s ass.” 

“Soulless me only followed your orders because he remembered how much he loved and respected you,” Sam argues, getting up on his elbows to hover over Dean. “He let you turn into a vampire just for fun.”’

Dean frowns. “Oh, yeah. Dick move.”

Sam can feel the smile working across his face. These are things they’ve never talked about, tender things that they’re shamed-faced over. Sam hates that. He grins at his brother, who’s smiling back tentatively. 

“Then again,” Sam murmurs, mind flooding with how it felt to be chased around the home they’d created with a hammer. “You… you did try to kill me. But I,” Sam licks his lips, swallows, wanting to voice something because he’s a masochist, always pressing on bruises just to wince, “do you think you really would have killed me? If. If Cas hadn’t stepped in. I. I always wanted to believe some part of you knew me, recognized me as, as yours.”

Dean’s eyes go soft, closing against Sam’s stare. He takes a deep breath, like he’s about to deliver some really bad news that will crush the little spark of hope Sam has felt about that, that Dean, despite being a demon, would have just threatened him a little (a lot), maybe knocked him unconscious so he wouldn’t be able to follow before disappearing again. He did promise to kill Cole for torturing him, and why would he have said that if he didn’t feel the need to get revenge? He may not have tried to actually save him, but if he didn’t care at all, he wouldn’t have said that. Right?

“I think I,” Dean starts finally, hand moving up to cradle Sam’s face, running his thumbs over the sharp cut of Sam’s cheekbone. This is the way Dean tells him he’s beautiful without saying it out loud. “I don’t know what he would have done if Cas hadn’t stepped in. But I do know, Sam, if he killed you, that he would’ve thought about it every single day. He thought about you every single day anyway, what you were doing, if you were still alive. He was glad when you brought him back here, because he recognized it as a place he was happy, even if he didn’t care about it at all. But I do know that whatever those versions of ourselves did, it has nothing to do with how I feel about you right now, when we’re right here. There’s no action I could take, nothing I could say to show you how it feels to have you this close.”

Sam smiles, unable to not nuzzle his face into Dean’s wide palm. Maybe it was stupid to bring it up, but they stopped really talking about things a long time ago. The trust between them shattered with his whole world when Dean got dragged down to hell, but Sam figures if he can open his body to Dean, he can open his heart, too. He doesn’t like secrets, doesn’t like that there are parts of Dean, thoughts Dean has that Sam doesn’t know about. He’s possessive of every single inch of him, even the uglier sides of Dean, because those are his parts, too. 

“But,” Dean continues, pulling Sam’s face closer, putting the words up against Sam’s lips in a way that makes Sam shiver all over with the errant touch, “Soulless you was definitely hotter than Demon me. Like, damn.”

That startles a laugh out of Sam, and he presses forward to feel those soft, full lips against his own. Dean moans against them, and the vibration against the bruised-puffy feel of his own mouth has him panting against his brother, his tongue sweeping in to own Dean’s mouth again, always. 

“Every version,” Sam murmurs as Dean tongues at his lips, pressing that wet muscle against the corner of his mouth, “every version of you is mine. And I’m never not yours, Dean. Everything I do is for, with or because of you.”

Dean hums, pleased, sliding his hands through Sam’s hair one last time, then pushing them further, making Sam arch into the touch as it trails all the way down his shoulders, back, before cupping his ass. Dean massages at his ass cheeks, inadvertently pulling them apart, exposing his fucked-out, wet hole to the cool air. He’s hard again, just like that, grinding his cock against Dean’s, where it’s trapped between their stomachs.

“Got one more round in you, little brother?” Dean asks, his fingers searching down the crack, two thick digits sinking smoothly back up inside him. They curl up, and the tug on Sam’s rim has his hips stuttering. 

“Anything for you,” Sam answers, sealing his mouth over Dean’s as he moans at the way Dean is taking him apart again. “Anything.”

He means that in a thousand different ways, in ways that would scare Dean to know. Maybe he’s okay with keeping some secrets after all.


End file.
